


The Dead Were Rising

by perfectcosima



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: I'm so sorry for this, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 02:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3592689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectcosima/pseuds/perfectcosima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do you ever just write something, and then stare at it, and just not know what to do with it? This is a crack fic. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dead Were Rising

The dead were rising.

 

They had defeated the burnt figures, barely held together by the blackened flesh that was desperately clinging onto bone.

 

Then it was the people of Mount Weather, an army with radiation burns that bit and clawed, empty shells of people that had too much humanity left.

 

The grounders who survived moved into Camp Jaha, the fence protecting them in a way that Polis could not.

 

They sent out patrols to fight off the hordes. So many dead were collected that funeral pyres were lit every night.

 

‘Yu gonplei ste odon’ became more of a familiar phrase than ‘heya’.

 

Every face haunted Clarke, but she forced herself to go out on patrol anyway. She had to protect her people.

 

One day she came face to face with a member of the living dead that was much too familiar.

 

She had that look, the one that was worst of all. The look that showed that she knew what was happening to her, knew everything.

 

“Anya,” Clarke breathed out the name, stepping forward, abandoning all of the caution that she was supposed to exercise on these excursions. Kill the zombies, bring back their corpses, burn them. That was protocol.

 

What used to be Anya, what was still Anya too much, looked up. “Clarke.”

 

Clarke shrunk back from the word. The tone in the dead girl’s voice accusatory, betrayed.

 

“Anya, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think… I didn’t know that they would kill you. I thought we were far enough away. I thought you’d be able to get away.”

 

Anya slowly shuffled closer, and Clarke stood there, paralyzed by something different than fear, paralyzed by her burning desire for closure, for forgiveness.

 

She wouldn’t get it.

 

“Clarke.” Anya repeated, now within arm’s reach. “I’m gonna knock your dick in the dirt.”

 

She lunged and bit down hard on Clarke’s arm.

Clarke suppressed her scream, knowing that it’s too late, that once bitten, nothing could be done. This wasn’t like with the reapers and their drug addiction. She was dead.

 

Anya looked over at her victim, her killer, her partner, who stared at her in shock. “Let’s go.”

  
Clarke followed her, because there was nothing else that she could do. 


End file.
